Page 26 of The Fake Out

He smirked. “I don’t think I said that.”

“You implied it.”

Now he crossed his arms, coming dangerously close to the ladies. He muttered something under his breath about four sisters and patience. “Let me try again. Why are you working here? Is this some sort of fantasy you’ve always had?”

“Yes, I’ve always dreamed of wearing Daisy Dukes while serving drunk guys overcooked food. I can die happy now. So glad we had this talk.”

He rubbed a hand over his chin, his eyes crinkling in the corners with amusement. “Hmm.”

“Hmm, what?”

“You should consider wearing this at the library. It could be very popular with a segment of the population who usually aren’t big readers—they’re more video watchers, if you know what I mean.”

“Shut up.”

He ignored me. “What about a story hour for adults? Hot wings, beer, you reading a selection of, ahem, adult literature?”

“I’m so glad you find this amusing.”

He flicked one of the braids resting on my shoulder. “These are a nice touch. I like them.”

“Are you done?”

He rubbed his thumb along his bottom lip like he was deep in thought. “I think so.”

“You are the most irritating person I have ever met. Do you know that?”

Judging from his expression, he wasn’t bothered by this observation at all. “It’s a gift.”

I took several deep breaths to curb the anxious rhythm of my heart. Irritating or not, he knew something about me I didn’t want anyone else to know.

He sighed and unfurled his arms. Gently, he cupped my shoulders. His voice was soft when he spoke. “Is everything okay?”

I stared up at him, at the concern in his eyes. It was like he could see straight through me, and I was almost overcome by the strangest desire to press my head right against his chest and tell him everything—my mother, the stroke, the medical bills, the library, Iris, my father’s possible return. Maybe he’d pull me close and rub my back and tell me it would be okay and that he’d help me figure it all out, and I would believe him.

But the thing is, life didn’t work that way. Heroes didn’t swoop in out of nowhere and solve your problems. Life wasn’t a romance novel. Life was more like a never-ending literary novel. Literary fiction never had happy endings, just real endings.

My eyes dropped to the buttons on his polo. “I’m fine. Just trying to earn a little extra money on the weekends, that’s all.”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he squeezed my shoulders and let go. But I felt the slightest touch on my cheek. It wasn’t weird except it was weirdly comforting, and I was shocked to discover tears were forming for the second time that night.

I cleared my throat and met his eyes with resolve. “Can you not tell anyone about this? Please?”

The twinkle was back in his eye and that was good. Turns out Gentle Understanding Chris was on my list of potential downfalls. “It’ll be just between us, Samantha.”

“Thank you. Now, I need to get back to work. So…” I waved a hand to encourage leaving. “Open the door. Let’s go. Chop-chop.”

With a grin, he rested his hand on the doorknob. “Although, if you wanted to wear that shirt to our next book club meeting, I would not be unhappy about it.”

Ignoring his laughter, I marched back to work.

TEN

Quick! Somebody call 9-1-1 ’cause you just took my breath away.

—NONIE S.M.

I spent the next few days getting even less sleep than I normally did. On Wednesday, I woke up exhausted, my head aching.